[hider=Kaelen][b]Name:[/b] [color=8882be]Kaelen Moros[/color]
[b]Species:[/b] Lycan (Turned)
[b]Sex:[/b] Male 
[b]Age:[/b] Was turned at the age of twenty-seven and still takes on that younger appearance, but is around 47 years old. (He doesn't know his own age (More information in History))
[b]Affiliation:[/b] Parisian Pack
[b]Role:[/b] Scout / Tracker
[b]Pack Status:[/b] Newblood
[b]Transformation Origin:[/b] Unknown. It was dark and raining. He never saw his attacker coming. A brief struggle and a quick blow to the head. When he woke up, he was as he is now. [i](More information in History)[/i]

[b]Appearance:[/b] 
[hider=Face Claim][img]https://i.pinimg.com/474x/78/2b/1a/782b1ac35184c428570acf4b122bcee7.jpg[/img][/hider]
[hider=Build Claim][img]https://s3-ap-southeast-2.amazonaws.com/static.theright.fit/profile/images/b64d9311-f38f-4774-b541-a1f6243af73b/WdkJ8pRTQFzzAYdFCXBiQf0xaD1OUtfS3dXilTU1.jpeg[/img]
Ma cousin - Alex Walsh[/hider]

Kaelen appears no older than his early thirties, his youthful visage belying the weight of a life etched in hardship. His eyes are hauntingly dark, nearly a pure obsidian black, yet flecked with subtle glimmers of gold that catch the light like hidden treasures in a shadowed abyss. A wicked scar slashes across his left eye, a jagged reminder of a brutal childhood incident that left that eye milky white and sightless, forever clouding his vision on one side and adding an air of enigmatic mystery to his gaze. His jet-black hair falls in unruly waves, unkempt and wild, often tumbling messily over his face like a curtain drawn to shield his vulnerabilities from prying eyes.
His skin is a deep, sun-kissed tan, earned through years of wandering under relentless skies, and his body is lean yet powerfully muscled—a testament to the unforgiving streets that forged him. Scars crisscross his frame like a map of forgotten battles, each bruise and mark a silent story of survival, resilience, and the relentless grind of a life lived on the edge. With years of honing his ability to blend into the shadows, staying silent and out of sight, Kaelen can slip through crowds unnoticed, a ghost in plain sight, his presence as elusive as a whisper in the wind.
By nature, he keeps to himself, a hardened shell of cynicism and deep mistrust that shields a heart burdened by guilt and simmering rage from a past he rarely speaks of. Abandoned early in life, he wrestles with an aching void of loneliness and a desperate, unspoken yearning for acceptance, though he masks it behind a cold, impenetrable exterior. Yet, beneath that facade lie moments of raw vulnerability and a twisted sense of loyalty to the rare few he deems worthy of his trust—those he has chosen as family, binding himself to them with an intensity that borders on obsession. In their company, Kaelen transforms into someone entirely different: a kind-hearted soul who laughs freely, his guarded eyes softening into warmth, revealing the massive softy at his core—a man who, despite his scars, simply craves the simple joy of being loved and belonging.


[b]History:[/b]  Kaelen emerged into the world shrouded in secrecy and fear, the unintended progeny of a Lycan father and a mortal mother. His mother, a woman of quiet grace and hidden passions, had fallen deeply in love with a man whose true nature remained concealed until it was too late. Only when she discovered she carried his child did the truth unravel: her lover was no ordinary man, but a Lycan, a creature of primal instincts and uncontrollable rage. Terrified of what he might become if provoked—especially with a family at stake—she banished him from their home. His father, heartbroken yet resolute, agreed to leave, vanishing into the night without a trace. Whispers of his fate lingered like ghosts; was he still alive, prowling distant forests, or had the curse claimed him long ago? No one knew, and the uncertainty gnawed at the edges of Kaelen's early life.

Left alone and pregnant, Kaelen's mother spiralled into desperation. The world was unforgiving to a woman in her position, and it wasn't long before another man stepped forward—a handsome stranger with a veneer of charm that masked a volatile temper. She accepted his proposal, binding herself to him in a hasty marriage born of necessity rather than love. But beneath the surface, cracks formed quickly. He was an angry man, prone to outbursts that echoed through their modest home, and she became his prisoner as much as his wife.

From the moment Kaelen drew his first breath, a pall of dread hung over his parents. They scrutinised him with wary eyes, wondering if the Lycan's curse had been passed down through his blood. Would he transform into a beast under the full moon, or remain a fragile human child? There was no way to know without risking everything, so his mother made a harrowing decision: to keep him hidden, a secret locked away from the world. As soon as he was weaned from her breast and could fend for himself in the most basic ways, they led him into the basement—a dank, cramped cellar that reeked of mildew and despair. The cold stone walls became his cage, the dim light filtering through a single barred window his only glimpse of the outside world. He was rarely allowed out, fed just enough to survive, and kept deliberately weak, so that if the Lycan blood stirred within him, his parents might overpower the monster they feared he could become.

Kaelen never shifted into a wolf, despite the chains that bound him during every full moon and the endless precautions his stepfather enforced. He was born fully human, yet treated like a feral animal—chained, starved, and beaten into submission. The basement was his prison, a place of isolation where days blurred into nights, punctuated only by the distant sounds of his mother's muffled sobs and his stepfather's cruel laughter. His earliest memories were etched in pain: the icy bite of metal shackles against his skin, the whispered threats that slithered through the darkness, and the sharp sting of betrayal from the people who should have protected him. His mother suffered in silence, enduring the stepfather's abuse—bruises hidden beneath long sleeves, tears shed in secret. Both mother and son were victims of his wrath, trapped in a cycle of torment that Kaelen could neither understand nor escape.

Tragedy struck when Kaelen was still young, his mother's death shrouded in mystery and brutality. Rumours whispered of foul play, but the truth remained buried, much like Kaelen himself. His stepfather, consumed by guilt or fear, abandoned the home shortly after, leaving Kaelen to rot in the basement. With no one to feed him or release his chains, the boy—now a gaunt, feral youth—managed to break free, stumbling into the unforgiving streets above. The world outside was a harsh awakening: a labyrinth of alleyways and indifferent faces, where survival demanded cunning and cruelty. Kaelen learned quickly that the darkness within him wasn't just a curse from his father, but a tool for enduring the world's brutality. He scavenged for scraps, fought for territory, and embraced the shadows that had defined his life, forging a meagre existence from the remnants of others' discarded lives.

But fate had darker plans. One stormy night, as rain lashed the cobblestones and thunder rumbled like a distant growl, Kaelen was ambushed. He hadn't heard them coming—their footsteps drowned by the downpour—but he felt the impact when his body slammed against a cold brick wall. Icy hands seized his limbs, voices hissed in guttural tones, and a blunt object cracked against the back of his head. Darkness swallowed him whole. He awoke expecting death, but instead, he found himself irrevocably altered—a victim of a savage bite that ignited the dormant Lycan blood in his veins.

The first transformations were a nightmare beyond comprehension. Pain tore through him like wildfire: bones cracking with agonising snaps, flesh ripping apart as muscles reformed, his body warping into a monstrous wolf-like creature under the relentless pull of the moon. He awoke in unfamiliar places—forests, abandoned lots, even the outskirts of towns—clad only in the blood and gore of whatever unfortunate soul or beast had crossed his path. The horror of it consumed him; he tried desperately to control the beast, to chain it down, but it was futile. He was a freak, a dangerous aberration that shouldn't exist, yet here he was, a predator in human skin. Desperate, he turned to self-inflicted torment. Steel chains came first, but they shattered under his strength. Then he sought silver—precious, burning silver—that seared his flesh like acid, a pain he craved because it meant he was contained. Each night, he shackled himself to a wall, the metal biting into his wrists, and the relief upon waking—bound, blistered, and aching—was a twisted balm. This ritual became his anchor, a cycle of agony that blurred the passage of time. Months stretched into potential years, a haze of isolation and self-loathing, until the Parisian Pack discovered him.

At first, Kaelen believed they had come to end his misery, to put down the monster he had become. He would have welcomed the finality, the release from his cursed existence. But they offered something else: salvation through guidance. They were there to help, to teach him to harness the wolf within, to mould the chaos into strength. He surrendered willingly, throwing himself into their training with ferocious determination. Under their tutelage, he honed his instincts, learned to embrace the beast as an ally rather than an enemy, and forged bonds that felt like the family he had never known. Now, he serves the Cantor, the enigmatic leader of the pack, a loyal enforcer in a world of shadows and savagery. In their ranks, Kaelen has found purpose, a semblance of belonging, and a way to channel the darkness that once threatened to consume him entirely. Yet, deep within, the scars of his past linger—a reminder that even in the embrace of the pack, the wolf's hunger is never truly sated.

[b]Motivation(s):[/b]  
*To find out what caused his mother's death
*To discover the fate of his birth father
*To prove his worth to the world
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